


The Sharper Edge

by dunk_on_em (the_author_at_221B)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Worship, Demonic Traits, M/M, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 20:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_author_at_221B/pseuds/dunk_on_em
Summary: Crowley was so very obviouslynota human.And Aziraphale couldn't possibly love him more.





	The Sharper Edge

**Author's Note:**

> I'm student teaching right now and have returned to throw this smut at you take and be gone but also leave a comment because teaching high school is killing me

It was his eyes you noticed first. Inhuman – obviously. A snake’s eyes, comprised of a warm yellow iris and a black slit down the middle.

They scared people.

And they moved much too quickly for a human. His eyes snapped from object to object, always watching for those who could pose him harm, always watching for signs of either Side.

They looked dangerous. They looked – predatory.

So he hid them. He hid them behind glasses that Aziraphale _hated_, glasses that shadowed his golden gaze, separated him from the world.

But Crowley was always watching.

And Aziraphale watched back.

They would be sitting together, knees touching knees, passing a bottle of red back and forth. Crowley would lose his glasses, as he always did when he was drinking Merlot, and his eyes would inevitably lock with Aziraphale’s as they argued over whether or not cats had bigger brains than foxes.

He would lock eyes with Crowley, and he would immediately forget what he was he was going to say.

“You’re staring,” Crowley would laugh, his golden eyes sparkling.

And Azirahphale would laugh too, and pose no argument in return.

* * *

It was his _body_ people noticed second. At first glance, it looked human. It looked normal. But when it moved, it was _anything_ but. He moved with a fluidity that mirrored the rivers of old. His head moved first, and the rest of him followed in a smooth, silky motion. His hips seemed to move independently of his spine at times, shimmying, sliding, gliding as he walked, _snake-like_, drawing the attention of everyone around him.

Aziraphale being no exception.

They would be walking together, their shoulders brushing against each other in the brisk night air. They would be walking back to Crowley’s ridiculous car after a night of dining at Aziraphale’s ridiculous restaurants. And Crowley would rock, side to side, bumping into Aziraphale over and over again.

Every time their hips made contact, un-angelic sparks of _want_ would shoot up Aziraphale’s spine. He wanted nothing more that to grab Crowley’s slim waist, to pull him flush. He wanted nothing more than to feel Crowley move against him, to feel him push and pull and slide and rub and oh _God_, how Aziraphale wanted.

Aziraphale would be so caught up in the hypnotic movements of his partner that his feet would stumble, and he would lose track of their conversation. And Crowley would _always_ notice.

“And then I said, I said ‘Excuse you! It’s not _technically_ stealing if it’s done between the hours of two and four and the morning’, and he said ‘Sir, please step _out_ of the vehicle’, and I said - hey!” Crowley snapped his fingers, bringing Aziraphale’s attention back to the words Crowley was currently saying and the night they had been having. “Are you even listening?”

And Aziraphale would smile and nod, and remember to be _content_.

He would settle for the gentle presses of his body as they stumbled down the sidewalk together. It was _enough_.

It _used to_ be enough.

But then the world almost ended. And everything changed, mostly for the better.

* * *

Normally, people didn’t see Crowley’s claws. They were hidden, pulled back into his fingers, leaving him looking like he had only slightly long fingernails.

They came out occasionally. They came out when he felt threatened, which was any time he had to deal with another demon. They were sharp, black, and about an inch and a half long. They looked dangerous, and they were.

People didn’t see Crowley’s true tongue either. It normally looked like a human tongue, nondescript and hidden away. But when Crowley lost himself, it split down the middle. Like a snake’s tongue but slightly thicker, it would dart out of his lips occasionally. He would hiss ever so quietly when his tongue was like this, although you had to listen _very_ carefully to hear it.

Aziraphale could hear it now. He could hear the hiss, just centimeters away from his ear, pinned firmly underneath him. He could _feel_ the tips of Crowley’s talons, sliding down his back, leaving trails of raised flesh and pinpricks.

“Sorry”, Crowley gasped, when he felt one of his claws draw blood. Aziraphale arched his back into the touch in response, licking the apology off of Crowley’s forked tongue with a shudder. He pressed Crowley further into the mattress, gasping for a breath he didn’t need when he felt Crowley start to move underneath him.

The undulating movement of his hips was even _more_ maddening like this. Aziraphale clenched his teeth and let his hands wander, wanting more, _needing_ more.

Gluttony would be the death of him.

“My dear,” Aziraphale sounded as wrecked as he felt. “My dear, I need-“

“Anything, yes.” Crowley whispered, the end of the word fading into the softest hiss. “Anything you want.”

And Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed in, knowing only warmth and heat and _fire_, and it frankly didn’t even matter what kind of Effort Crowley was making; it was everything Aziraphale needed, and he pushed in again, and again, and again.

He cried out, his hands scrambling for purchase in Crowley’s red hair. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, and he willed them away to focus for a minute more.

“Aziraphale,” a raspy voice called out. “Look at me.”

He raised his head from where it was buried in Crowley’s neck to meet his demon’s eyes.

Flakes of orange seemed to dance in the depths of the yellow, and within them lied a love that Aziraphale couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

He closed his eyes, and his vision went white.

* * *

Very few beings, be them angels, demons, or humans, have ever seen Crowley’s wings. A demon’s wings are a point of pride, and they’re very, very carefully maintained. They’re large, and impossibly soft. They’re an obsidian black, so dark that light itself seems pulled in from every direction.

And as Aziraphale lies against his demon’s chest, with black wings enclosed around him, he can only be thankful for that fact.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you could leave a comment I would love you forever. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://dunk-on-em-ao3.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I take requests there!


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